Anna glanced at me. “What are you drinking?”
“Chardonnay.”
The waitress made a note before she turned and walked away.
Anna picked up her glass. “End of a long week. Excuse me if I don’t wait.”
“I thought Ellen would be with you.”
“In a bit. Hank, too. His mom lives six doors down and she said she’d watch the kids. So what’s the plan? Staying over?”
“I have a room at the Holiday Inn.”
“Good for you,” she said.
“Is this where you spend your Friday nights?”
“Saturday nights, too. I date a guy who plays keyboard in Ethan’s band.”
“Is that how you met?”
“Other way around. I talked Ethan into hiring him when another guy dropped out. Where’re
you from?” she asked, switching the subject as if the answer had slipped her mind. Ethan had probably unloaded anything and everything I’d said about myself.
“Santa Teresa.”
“Nice. How’s the club scene?”
“There isn’t one.”
“Bummer.” She took a sip of her martini, holding the glass by the rim. Her nails looked great and I checked mine by way of comparison. With me, she’d used a nail buffer instead of polish, but my nails still had a high shine, as though she’d coated them with clear polish. I remembered her remark about my slender fingers and arranged them on the table in what I hoped was an artful pose.
She moved a cocktail napkin closer and set the stemmed glass in the center with care. I wondered if she already had a buzz on. “Ethan says you’re a private detective.”
“This is true.”
She speared the top of an olive with a long red nail and held it up like a lollipop. “So what’s it take to get a job like that?” She closed her lips around the olive and chewed.
“Long apprenticeship. You work for a licensed PI until you’ve put in the hours you need.”
“Which is how many?”
“Six thousand. If you work a forty-hour week, fifty weeks a year, you’re talking three years.”
“Bet you need a college degree.”
“I don’t have one. I attended a couple of semesters of community college, but I didn’t graduate.”
“I never went at all. I’m the baby in the family. By the time it was my turn, Daddy was in prison and the money was gone.”
“What money?”
“From the house. Mom sold it when she married Gilbert and moved into his. They’ve built a new one. Three thousand square feet and a three-car garage. Looks just like Tara, from
Gone With the Wind
.”
I said, “What about Ethan? Did he go to college?”
“Nah. He had the chance, but he was busy with his career. You know what I got? A big fat zero. I mean, I get that Daddy left us nothing, but isn’t there some way you could borrow against the estate? I’d pay you back for sure.”
“At this point, the money isn’t mine.”
“At least Ellen has a husband,” she said, apropos of nothing.
“Does she have kids?”
Anna held up three fingers. “Same as my brother,” she said. “Remember that English writer, Virginia Somebody?” She snapped her fingers. “Woolf.”
“I’ve heard of her, but I’ve never read her work.”
“I was in this book club for a couple months? We read a novel by her about a day in the life of this lady who gives a party.
Mrs. Dalloway
’s the title of it. Like who gives a shit. Anyway, she committed suicide—the writer, not the hostess—and you know how she offed herself?”
“No clue,” I said, wondering where she was going with this.
“Loaded her coat pockets with big rocks and walked into a river. Sank to the bottom and she drowned. Over and out. I figure kids are like that. Get pregnant, you might as well fill your pockets with stones.”
The waitress appeared with my white wine, which was mercifully bad, a bonus under the circumstances, since I considered this work and I didn’t want to drink too much.
Anna caught the waitress’s attention. “We’ll run a tab.”
“Sure thing.”
Anna propped her chin on one hand, giving me the big blue eyes. “Is Santa Teresa expensive? I mean, for someone like me who rents?”
“Actually, it is. A lot of people opt for Colgate just north of us or Winterset to the south.”
“So how much for a studio, something small like that?”
“Six hundred a month.”
“For a studio? You’re shittin’ me.”
I shrugged. “That’s the going rate.”
“Are you, like, in the snooty part of town?”
“I’m down by the beach.”
“Six hundred bucks a month is a lot of money. How much do you make?”
“Enough. Are you thinking about a move?”
“Well, I sure don’t want to hang out in a town like this. Spend the rest of my life in Bakersfield? Get serious. I’m twenty-six years old. I got a dead-end job and I bunk in with the dog in my sister’s spare room. No bathroom back there, so I have to trek all the way down the hall. Two hundred a month and I help around the house. She makes out big time on that deal, I’m telling you.”
“I can see why you’d want a change.”
“If I could ever catch a break. You know what gets me? Even if I want to move to, like, Santa Teresa or someplace nice? I don’t know a soul and I wouldn’t have a place to stay while I was looking for work. First and last month’s rent? Forget about it. There’s no way.”
“Maybe you should save some cash.”
“On my salary? Good luck,” she said. She laid the big blue eyes on me. “I don’t suppose you know anyone who’d put me up.”
“Not off hand.”
“It’d just be temporary and I could pay
some
. Not a lot, but I’d be happy to pitch in.”
“If I hear of anything, I’ll let you know.”
I was hoping we’d exhausted the subject, but she had simply paused to sip her drink.
“So what time do you head for home?”
“I’m not sure. Depends on when I get up. Early.”
“Because I was thinking I could snag a ride. As long as you’re going anyway, I could keep you company.”
“What about work? Aren’t you supposed to give two weeks’ notice?”
“I make minimum wage. What do I owe them?”
“Seems like a courtesy,” I said.
“Oh, yeah, right. Easy for you to say. So how about it?”
“How about what?”
“Me bumming a ride. Crap you’ve laid on us, I’m entitled to
something
, don’t you think?”
I stared at her. For the life of me, I couldn’t think of a response.
As I looked away from her, I saw a couple standing in the entrance, where they’d paused to scan the room. “Is that Ellen and Hank?”
Since Anna and I were the only customers in the place, Hank had no trouble spotting us, and he was quick to raise a hand in greeting. Anna waved him over to the table like he might inadvertently sit somewhere else.
He was tall, slim, and clean-shaven with a buzz cut of light brown hair. He held out his hand, saying, “Hank Wagner.”
“Kinsey Millhone,” I said.
When I shook hands with him, he knew enough to provide me with a firm grip. He wore jeans and an olive green T-shirt that fit like it was tailored to size. He would have been perfect on a billboard for Marine recruits. Beside him, Ellen was petite. Her hair was blond and thick, layered so it hugged her head. Her bangs were cut straight across and fell below her brows, like a knit hat pulled low against the cold. Despite having three kids, she showed no signs of childbearing. She was small and slender and would probably always carry herself like a sixth-grade girl, shoulders slightly rounded, jeans hanging on her hips. Ballet-style flats, no socks. I turned to her and extended my hand. “Kinsey. You’re Ellen?”
I got the limp hand. I saw her mouth move, but her smile was distracted and she wouldn’t meet my eyes. At first I thought she was pissed off, but I realized she was so shy she could barely raise her voice. Hank headed for the bar to buy drinks while she sat down and fussed with her purse, arranging the long straps over the top chair rail. It must have felt odd not to have to worry about bottles, diapers, and baby wipes, not to mention plastic baggies filled with crackers.
Hank appeared moments later with a beer for himself and a margarita for her. Ten minutes went by, during which we were engaged in idle chat. Anna and Ellen went off to the ladies’ room, leaving me alone with Hank. He was pleasant, though he didn’t volunteer anything, perhaps at a loss about where to begin. All he knew about me was I’d snatched five hundred thousand dollars out of the family coffers. Given that I interview people for a living, I was happy to break the ice. “What sort of work do you do?”
“Electrician. My dad owns the company. I have a brother works for him, too.”
“Nice,” I said, picturing a tool belt and a voltage meter. “How’d you and Ellen meet?”
“She was waiting tables at Wool Growers. Have you been there?”
“I’ve been in town one day so I haven’t seen much.”
“It’s a Basque restaurant on Nineteenth. You ought to try it if you have a chance. Food’s good and there’s lots of it. After my mom died, we’d go in for dinner couple of nights a week, my dad and brother and me.”
“Ellen waited tables? She seems too shy for a job like that.”
“She did fine. Around strangers she gets all tongue-tied and weird. She’ll loosen up in a bit. Took me a while to get to know her myself. We dated two years and been married six.”
“Anna mentioned she lives with you.”
“Yes, ma’am. I actually met Anna first. She used to do my mom’s nails when she worked at the other salon. Before Nails Ahoy!”
“How long has she been staying with you?”
“She said it would be three weeks, but it’s been like a year and a half.”
“That’s a bit of an imposition, isn’t it?”
“Some. House is small. She’s quiet. I’ll say that for her. Stays up late and sleeps late, so we have to keep the kids out from underfoot. She’s supposed to help out with room and board, but that didn’t last long. She paid maybe two months. Since then she hasn’t given us a cent. She buys too many clothes to pitch in, I guess.”
“Well, that’s too bad.”
He shrugged. “I let Ellen handle it. She asks about the money and Anna’s all like, ‘Sure, no problem.’ By the time the subject comes up again, another month’s gone by.”
“Why don’t you kick her out?”
“Not my place. Ellen knows she should ask her to leave, but she can’t bring herself to do it. She says Anna’s family, which I can understand, but still and all.”
“Do the three of them get along? Ethan and his sisters?”
He shrugged. “As long as Ellen does what they want. They yap about how she’s always her dad’s favorite and poor them. It’s bull, but they’ve said it so often she believes it herself. She’s afraid to stand up to them because she doesn’t want anybody mad at her. I believe one reason her dad took her out of the will along with the other two is he knew if he left her anything, Ethan and Anna would talk her into giving it to them.”
“Makes me happy I’m an only child.”
“Too bad she’s not.”
The waitress appeared with a small tray, on which she’d placed two shot glasses of tequila and another margarita that she set in front of Ellen’s empty chair. When Anna and Ellen returned from the ladies’ room, I watched Ellen toss back the first shot without blinking an eye. She sat down, picked up her margarita, and took two swallows of the icy lime slush before she set it down again. I kept an eye on her. Tequila can make a mean drunk. I’ve seen grown men break chairs and punch through walls. I didn’t think she’d turn combative, but it was clear she liked getting right down to it. Watching her drink was like watching roses bloom by way of time-lapse photography. After one drink, her reticence faded and she seemed to open up. After two drinks, she was outgoing, sunny, and willing to talk about anything. My guess was by drink three, she’d wilt, and by the fourth, she’d fall apart.
Hank and Anna went off to play pool, and I shifted my chair so I could talk to Ellen without raising my voice. The bar was still quiet, though a handful of patrons had begun to wander in. As much as I dreaded introducing the subject of Dace, I figured I might as well get it over with. I didn’t think it was necessary to go back over the fact that I’d never met the man. Ethan and Anna would have hammered that point home.
In a situation like this, I don’t like to manipulate unless all else has failed. I don’t mind shaping the conversation, but I prefer to create an atmosphere wherein people can speak their minds instead of saying what they think I want to hear. Small talk has the virtue of being indirect, carving out a space within a space where anything can occur. I did feel I should prime the pump. I caught her eye. “Anna says you had a big family powwow. You have any questions?”
“Not especially. You know . . .” The sentence trailed off. I doubted she was going anywhere with the phrase.
“I wanted to make sure you knew about the hearing in December. This is Santa Teresa probate court, and the purpose is to give you the opportunity to challenge the terms of his will if that’s what you decide to do.”
“I don’t care about that. Ethan and Anna might, but I don’t.” No eye contact, but she’d managed two consecutive sentences, which I took as a good sign.
“I’ve told both of them it would be smart to consult with an attorney before you make a decision.”
She picked up the second shot glass and tossed that down, then flicked me a look. Her eyes were the same blue as Anna’s, but not as large. The net effect was that she seemed sincere where I knew now for a fact Anna was blowing smoke up my skirt.
Daintily, she touched at the corners of her mouth. “You know what bothers me? My dad never got to meet my kids. This last time when he showed up? Hank and I were in Yosemite on a camping trip. We got home Sunday night and Daddy’d come and gone, so I only heard about it after. Ethan spit on him. Did he tell you that?”
I shook my head. “I knew there was a tiff.”
“He spit right in Daddy’s face. He told me about it like he was proud of himself. Anna treated Daddy like shit. She treats all guys like shit, but she got in the habit with him.”
“What’s all the hostility about?”
“Ethan’s protective of Mom and Anna goes along. They both think anything bad in life is Daddy’s fault.”
“How does your mother feel?”
“She hates his guts. She won’t admit it, but it’s true.”
“Anna says she’s remarried. What’s your stepdad like?”
“Gilbert built her this big new house. You’d think she’d be happy, but she’s not.”
“That’s too bad. Wonder what the problem is?”
“It didn’t work out like she expected. Gilbert has money and she thought he was the answer to her prayers.”
“So what went wrong?”
“Nothing in particular. She expected life would be better and it’s still the same.”
“Had she known him long?”
“I guess. They met at church. After Daddy went to prison, she and Gilbert left that church and joined this other one. She said people were talking behind her back.”
“You like him?”
“He’s good with my kids.”
“What’s the rest of it?”
“He’s a pantywaist.”
I laughed because the word was so unexpected. “What about your dad? What was he like?”
“You know what? He was just the sweetest man. Even when he was drunk, he didn’t turn mean or spiteful or anything like that. I know he lost control over his drinking, especially at the end. Maybe I should be mad at him, but I’m not. After he got hurt, he was in a lot of pain. You knew he had a bad fall?”
“Someone mentioned it.”
“He should’ve known better than to drink while he was taking all those pills, but that’s what he did. I miss him.”
“When did you see him last?”
She downed the last of her margarita, set that glass aside, and picked up the second, from which she took a sip. There was nothing in her manner that suggested she was wasted, but I could feel sorrow rising through her bones. “In jail, before they moved him to Soledad. Mom didn’t want us to go. She said he’d be embarrassed. Ethan and Anna didn’t really want to see him anyway, but I did. I knew once he left here he’d be too far away, and how would I get there? I’d just turned fifteen and I didn’t have my driver’s license. I knew I couldn’t count on her. She wouldn’t even discuss taking me.”
“How did you manage it?”
“I looked up his attorney in the yellow pages. I called and asked if he’d get me in. I don’t know how he did it. There must be rules about how old you have to be.”
“Attorneys are good at sweet talk.”
“This one was. Daddy had the shakes. He was on the wagon because he didn’t have much choice. You hear all the time that inmates have access to anything they want . . . alcohol and dope . . . but Daddy kept his distance from the other guys. He was afraid of them. Mom told us at Soledad, he got all the alcohol he wanted. I don’t know how he managed it, but that’s her claim.”
“What’d you talk about?”
“Nothing. Stupid stuff. Whatever you say when you’re fifteen and your dad’s been convicted of murdering a girl the same age as you. I wasn’t allowed to stay long.”
“That must have been hard on you. All of it.”
“You know what? In my own mind, I was sure he was innocent. Even back then when everybody else thought he was guilty as sin.”
“Good you had a chance to see him sober.”
“He felt good about himself. He quit on his own . . . no help from anyone. Okay, so maybe he drank at Soledad, but who wouldn’t? And then once he got out, he probably had a drink to celebrate.”
“If it’s any comfort, his friends said he went into a program and at least made a pass at straightening up his act. Maybe he didn’t do it soon enough. It’s hard to know.”
“Was he alone when he died?”
“He was alone when he was found, so I’d say so, yes.”
For a moment, she was quiet, and I had no idea what was going on in her head.
Finally, she said, “You may not know this, but Daddy was a big guy. Six feet tall and nearly three hundred pounds before the booze got to him. In jail, it was like he shrank. The whole time I was there, I could see his hands shake. I wish I hadn’t seen that. He acted like it was the DTs, but it wasn’t. He was scared to death and his nerves were shot.”
“Jail’s a scary place if you’re not used to it.”
“Hank told me this story once. He said when he was growing up, the family had this big old Great Dane. He said Rupert was really smart, but he had the soul of a little dog and never understood how big he was. When they’d take him to the vet, Rupert would just be shaking from head to toe, convinced the vet was going to put him down. All these routine appointments and Rupert would be cowering. Big old hulking dog, quaking in his boots. Hank said it was comical. They tried not to laugh, but they couldn’t help themselves because the dog was self-conscious. You know what I mean? Like he was ashamed. Like he knew something was ridiculous and he wasn’t sure if it was him. They never could convince him he was safe. Then when he was twelve he got sick and sure enough they took him to the vet and sure enough the vet said he’d have to put him down. Hank said what was so odd was the dog made this crooning sound, like the thing he dreaded all these years was right there and it wasn’t so bad. Because instead of laughing at him, everyone was hugging and kissing him, saying how much they loved him, and that’s when he closed his eyes.” She was silent for a moment. “If I’d been there, I could have held Daddy’s hand.”
• • •
I ended up in the other room watching Anna play pool. With her in her red leather miniskirt and her red sequined tank top, most of the spectators were more interested in her butt than her bank shots. Her opponent might as well have been her twin, a woman roughly the same age and the same build. Her coloring was different. Where Anna was dark, this girl had red hair in a long braid that was wrapped around her head like a crown. She wore a snug black dress, cut midthigh, with a low square neckline. I’d seen her come in, arriving with a guy who looked like a biker: overweight, balding, with a thick handlebar mustache and a tiny gold ring in one ear. The judgment was unfounded and probably inaccurate. I’m sure there are countless slim, handsome bikers rumbling down our highways. For all I knew, this man was a renowned neurosurgeon for whom buxom redheads were a means of relaxation after countless hours in an operating theater. She played with a single-mindedness I admired and eventually Anna went down in defeat. By then, she’d switched from martinis to Champagne, which probably affected her coordination, as she drained each flute like it was apple juice. The beefy guy took her place and she and I ended up on the sidelines, idly looking on while play continued.